


A Good Gift

by AdamantSteve



Series: The Polaroid 'Verse [4]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Birthday Presents, Blow Jobs, Daddy Kink, Gift Giving, M/M, Photographs, Sugar Daddy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-22
Updated: 2014-09-22
Packaged: 2018-02-18 08:14:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2341334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdamantSteve/pseuds/AdamantSteve
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Phil's birthday, and he tells Clint not to get him a gift. What is a boy to do?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Good Gift

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ralkana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ralkana/gifts).



> I've posted this as a gift for Ralkana, but it's actually a pre-gift fic, as your actual gift fic is still in the works, Ral!
> 
> Huge thanks to orderlychaos/chaosisorderly and dunicha for their sterling work as betas :) I fiddled a tiny bit with it after you guys saw it so any remaining mistakes are all my fault.

Phil nearly forgets his own birthday, which Clint teases him about in his sweet-devil way, grinning cheekily as he does it. It’s during a lazy weekend, the kind Phil hopes not to grow too used to, but feels like he easily could. They’re tangled up together on the couch, flicking through TV channels and winding up on some cake baking show, and Clint wonders aloud when Phil’s birthday is. Phil stops stroking Clint’s hair to glance at his watch for the date, and Clint grumbles softly at the loss. “It’s next week,” Phil realises.

 

After the teasing Clint slowly withdraws, which signifies him thinking hard about something. This will be the first occasion of its kind that they’ve had in their relationship and Phil can practically see the cogs turning in Clint’s head.

 

“I want to take you out for dinner, if that’s alright?” Phil says softly, coming to stand behind Clint when he’s been watching coffee percolate for a little too long in the kitchen. He hums happily when Phil molds himself to Clint’s back and presses a kiss to the side of his neck, but there’s a tension that Phil’s not sure how to soothe. Clint’s probably thinking about what he ought to buy for Phil as a gift, what might be befitting his wealthy boyfriend, and for the first time, Phil has reason to regret (albeit only slightly) being so very generous with Clint during their short time together.

 

As Phil’s still trying to work out a tactful way of saying “don’t buy me anything”, Clint pours them both a mug of coffee and then turns to give Phil a little more access to kiss his way up and down the soft skin of his neck. “Tell me what you want,” he says in the end, turning in Phil’s arms, coffee forgotten. “For your birthday.”

 

He’s looking at Phil with his intense gaze, and not for the first time Phil thinks that Clint would be good in a courtroom, and can imagine witnesses crumbling under his regard. Phil smiles and squeezes Clint around the middle. “I don’t want anything.”

 

Clint rolls his eyes and huffs dramatically. “Knew you were gonna say that.” He gracefully twists out of Phil’s arms and moments later is sitting at the kitchen table with his coffee in one hand and Phil’s iPad in the other. “Bet you’ve got an Amazon wishlist full of tie pins and shoeshines or whatever.”

 

“Hey!” Phil lunges for the iPad and Clint easily pulls it out of his reach, so Phil gives in and indulges in an undignified grab-fight that somehow winds up with Phil’s shirt on the kitchen floor covered in coffee and the pair of them half naked, making out.

 

Not that Phil’s complaining, nor is Clint for that matter, but Phil’s glad to have rescued his Amazon wishlist from Clint’s eyes. There’s things on there that aren’t just ridiculously expensive and indulgent, but, well, sometimes when it’s late and Phil’s lonely, he lets himself browse things like ‘men’s diamond rings’ and ‘gay wedding’, and Clint really doesn’t need to see those things. At least, not for a long while.

 

—-

 

Phil cashes in a favour and gets a table for two at Riva for his birthday meal, just him and Clint. His work friends and he have a mutual birthday understanding: a dozen donuts for the office and everyone keeps quiet about it. But more and more, Phil’s favourite thing to do is spoil Clint, and a table on the 40th floor of a skyscraper with floor-to-ceiling windows is something he knows Clint will enjoy; that in itself is treat enough for Phil.

 

Clint shows up straight from college, awkwardly clutching a rucksack that doesn’t really go with the deep purple shirt that Phil bought him a few weeks ago. Seeing Clint in things Phil’s given him always makes Phil feel a warm flush of pride and a deeper hum of _possession_ , which he knows he ought to feel weirder about than he does. Clint’s face lights up when he spots Phil, and they share a chaste kiss before he sits down, nudging his bag under the table.

 

The meal is excellent, and they both lose themselves in delicious food and delicate touches above and below the table. Phil’s mindful of the bag Clint declined to put in the coat check room, but he knows how careful Clint is with his things, his camera in particular. Though the thought that Clint might have done something reckless like spend all his money on some ‘tie pin or shoeshine’ (whatever a shoeshine is), never quite stops gnawing on Phil’s consciousness.

 

Phil’s birthday is only mentioned by the waiter when he brings over a final tiny cupcake with a candle in it, explaining that it’s by special request. Clint’s beaming and practically bouncing in his seat, so it doesn’t take much for Phil to gather who made the special request. The cake is one of those box mix things, with a round piece of rice paper printed with Captain America stuck on top, the candle very carefully stuck through the middle of Cap’s shield.

 

“Did you make this?” Phil asks, though he’s pretty sure he already knows the answer. Clint grins down at his now empty place setting and shrugs. “Maybe.”

 

Phil blows out the candle and then pops the cake in his mouth. It tastes like sugar and cheap frivolity and he’s quite sure he’s never eaten anything so wonderful. 

 

“You wanna blow this joint?” Phil whispers once he’s dabbed up every last crumb of cake and sucked it off his finger. Clint’s eyes widen comically at the prospect of leaving without paying, and Phil smiles and shakes his head. The favour he called in was from the owner himself, who Phil helped out with a little tax issue a while ago. The meal is on the house, and Phil doesn’t mean for it to be a brag, but Clint coos about it and calls him Mr Big Shot as they get ready to go.

 

“You wanna go anywhere else?” Phil asks when they get out into the crisp wintery air. Clint’s in the gorgeous coat Phil bought him on - what? Their second date? - and he looks as delectable as ever. 

 

Clint catches him looking and grins. “It’s your birthday, so it’s up to you. You wanna go to the opera? Take me to a jazz show?” He casts about for something else that he’d never usually suggest. “The library?”

 

“Yeah,” Phil deadpans. “Lets go to the library at 10.30 at night, I’m sure it’ll be open.”

 

Clint nods and goes easily into Phil’s arms as he’s pulled in, murmuring into Phil’s chest, “wha’ver you wan’, Daddy.”

 

Phil shivers like he does any time Clint calls him that, and kisses the top of Clint’s head.

 

-

 

All Phil really wants to do is take Clint home and kiss him all over as he slowly unwraps him like the gift that he is, and he whispers as much when they’re waiting for a taxi. Clint snorts and rolls his eyes, sobering when Phil doesn’t laugh.

 

“I mean it,” Phil says, running his hands down Clint’s arms to hold his hands. “These last few months have been…” He doesn’t know how to put it into words. Nothing seems to capture how he feels about Clint, nothing that doesn’t sound ridiculously grandiose, and Phil’s always worried about catching Clint off guard with grandness. “They’ve been wonderful, Clint. You make me very happy. Thank you.” 

 

Clint swallows and looks a little bit like a deer caught in headlights, but then he kisses Phil and it feels like he’s trying to climb inside, hands clinging at Phil’s jacket like he’s going to float away. 

 

Phil returns the kiss as best he can until Clint seems satisfied, his lips pink and shiny when he pulls away at the sound of a taxi pulling up. 

 

-

 

Despite Phil’s best efforts, Clint succeeds in getting Phil half hard in the taxi home, with his hands and whispered offers to give Phil a blowjob right there in the car if he wants. Phil calls him a menace, which just has Clint grinning before licking his way around the shell of Phil’s ear.

 

Clint seems to love getting Phil all dishevelled and flushed, his own cheeks rosy by the time they’re in the elevator going up to Phil’s apartment. Phil’s just glad that the only person they meet in the lobby is Mrs Greene and her tiny dog going out for a walk, neither of whom give the jacket draped strategically over Phil’s arm much attention. 

 

As soon as they’re in the apartment, Phil goes to the bedroom to take off his watch and put his jacket away, and Clint follows him to dump his bag, kick off his shoes and immediately flop onto the bed, legs akimbo in blatant invitation. 

 

Phil raises an eyebrow as he takes off his cufflinks. “Maybe in a little bit.” He rubs his belly. “I might explode if I try to do much for a while.”

 

Clint pouts but rolls to his feet anyway. He comes up behind Phil and helps him take off his vest once it’s unbuttoned.

 

“But I wanna make you feel good, Daddy.”

 

Phil turns and Clint starts undoing his belt for him. “You _do_ make me feel good, sweetheart. Just by being here, you make me happy.”

 

Clint concentrates on the belt, sliding it out of its loops before rolling it carefully into a coil to go in Phil’s drawer. Phil takes it from him and kisses him on the forehead before putting it away. When he turns back, Clint’s still standing in the same place, looking at his hands. 

“Clint?”

 

Clint looks kind of despondent when he looks up, and that won’t do at all. He must catch Phil’s concern, because he shakes his head and smiles. “Nothing’s wrong, sorry. I just.” He heaves a sigh and then rolls his eyes. “I got you something.”

 

“Clint… I told you you didn’t have to get me anything.”

 

“I know… I - It’s dumb.”

 

“I’m sure it’s not ‘dumb’, Clint.” Phil comes over to cup Clint’s jaw gently with one hand and kiss the look of doubt away from his sweet boy’s face. “Nothing you do is dumb.”

 

Clint snorts. “Well, that’s _definitely_ not true.”

 

Phil kisses him quiet, because he doesn’t like Clint talking poorly about himself, even in jest. 

 

“So, what did you get me?” Phil asks eventually, when it feels like Clint’s been a little soothed by his kisses. He slides his hands down Clint’s back to run his thumbs along the waistband of his pants. “Did you wrap it? I like unwrapping things.” 

 

“Nat helped me. Here,” Clint says, breaking away before going to his bag, unzipping it to pull out a vaguely rectangular object wrapped in shiny purple paper. He hands it over and scratches the back of his neck. “Happy birthday.”

 

It’s pretty heavy, and Phil’s mind races as he tries to imagine what it could be. What on earth has Clint bought him? He wants to say something like, “you shouldn’t have,” again, but senses that it might not be what Clint wants to hear. “Thank you,” he says instead, and sees Clint’s toes curl into the carpet.

 

“Open it,” Clint says impatiently.

 

Phil takes it over to the bed and sits down to tear open the paper. “It’s a polaroid camera,” Clint explains when Phil doesn’t say anything right away. “It’s stupid.” 

 

“It’s not stupid,” Phil says, though it doesn’t sound as emphatic as he intends it to; his voice wavers when he realises what Clint's given him. The camera is old, clearly second or third hand, and Phil feels his heart twist when he turns it over and sees the initials ‘C.F.B.’ underlined by an arrow in faded sharpie. “ _Clint_ -“

 

“I don’t really use it anymore, and you said not to get anything but I figured you… well, see it’s easy to use and… I don’t know… But it still works, I got you some film-“ Clint reaches into the bag to pull out a couple of cartons of film, and Phil knows he should _say_ something, because Clint’s freefalling, thinking Phil doesn’t like it, but he doesn’t know _what_ to say or how to say it. 

“I love it,” he says again, hoping his voice doesn’t shake too much. “It’s perfect.”

 

Phil manages to hold himself together as Clint shows him how to load film and take a picture, the first of which is of Phil, the image slowly developing and showing him how misty eyed and sappy he looks. All he can think about is how this is the first camera Clint had growing up, central to the few stories Clint’s told him from what seems to have been a rough time… and he’s entrusted it - one of the only relics he still has from back then - to Phil. How could he ever be worthy of such a thing?

 

“You try,” Clint says, nudging the camera into his hands. There are only ten pictures in each carton, and now one’s already used up on Phil’s own misty-eyed goofy face, so he fusses about making sure Clint’s lit properly, that there’s nothing untidy in the background, and Clint laughs at him, seemingly satisfied with Phil’s assurances that his gift is welcome, before pulling him onto the bed. “Here,” he says, grabbing the torn wrapping paper and laying down. He tears the paper a little more and then lays it around his head to frame his face. “How’s this?”

 

Phil has to straddle him to take the shot, finally pressing the button when Clint laughs and tells him to come _on_ already. The camera whirrs in Phil’s hands as the photo slides out, and Clint pulls him down into his arms to watch it develop.

 

“I look like an idiot,” Clint laughs once the picture fades in. “I’m all-“ he does an impression of himself halfway through telling Phil to take the picture, but Phil thinks he looks perfect, and tells him so. 

 

Clint holds the two photos together above them before kissing the one of Phil and tucking it into his shirt pocket. Phil leans up on one elbow and kisses the one of Clint for good measure. 

 

“Cheeseball,” Clint says fondly, relief rolling off him in waves. Phil steals the photo out of his hand and holds it safely out of the way while he kisses the real thing. 

 

-

 

When Phil wakes up, he knows he should save those eight pictures left in the camera, but Clint looks so peaceful lying there in his bed, early morning sunlight draped softly over his face, that Phil can’t resist. He sneaks out of bed and frames up the scene perfectly, but regrets taking the picture instantly as the shutter, deafening in the silence of morning, startles Clint out of his slumber. Phil almost drops the camera, managing to press the shutter again as he tries not to drop it.

 

“Sorry, sorry!” he cries, but Clint’s blinking confusion gives way to sleepy laughter, and he presses his face back into the pillows.

 

“I’m gonna get _you_ next time,” Clint says once he’s turned to one side, reaching out his arms and one leg to reel Phil back into bed. “Next time you fall asleep reading the newspaper.”

 

Phil doesn’t protest, letting Clint wrap around him like a starfish, and a few kisses ease the pout into a smile. “Fine by me,” he says. “You can take pictures of whatever you want.”

 

He can pinpoint the moment Clint makes his mind up, and he’s saying no before Clint’s even done anything, but it’s already too late. Clint squirms his way down Phil’s body, taking the covers as he goes and finding the camera on the way. The photograph still sticking out of it is the one Phil accidentally took after he woke Clint up, and he gets the barest glimpse of Clint’s sleepy confused face before Clint’s tossing it behind him, the other photo lost somewhere amidst the sheets.

 

“What are you doing?” Phil asks, though he knows, and Clint knows he knows, but still. 

“Taking pictures of things I want,” Clint explains, and Phil’s about to give some retort to that but then Clint tugs down his underwear and nuzzles at his balls before darting his tongue out to lick at the crease of Phil’s thigh, and all rational thought vanishes immediately.

 

The camera gets placed on Phil’s belly, forgotten in Clint’s new mission. He’s very determined when it comes to anything sexual, but particularly oral sex. He devotes himself wholeheartedly to the task at hand, with no time for anything else. This time is no different, and he gazes at Phil’s cock as it thickens rapidly under the scrutiny of such a talented caretaker. 

 

Clint licks his lips and looks up at Phil, then to the camera and back to Phil.

 

“Take my picture, Daddy,” he says licking his lips again as if he’s trying to make them as shiny as possible. Clint holds his gaze as he bends to lick along the underside of Phil’s cock, which twitches when he reaches the tip.

 

Phil’s toes curl at the sensation, and he almost hits the shutter again in his rush to pick up the camera.

 

“Really?” Phil asks, astounded as always at how trusting Clint’s always been with him. 

 

“I wanna see,” is Clint’s reply, and then he kind of ignores Phil for a while, absorbed back into the task of expertly sucking Phil's cock.

 

The picture in the end is a little blurry, and to anyone else it wouldn’t be entirely obvious that it’s even Clint, but Phil’s hand is on his cheek and Clint’s eyes are bright and perfect as he looks up at the camera, or at Phil behind the camera, cock half hidden by one hand as he licks at the base of it. 

 

Phil doesn’t see it until later, after dropping the camera to haul Clint up into his arms and jerk them off together in one hand as he kisses his beautiful boy, his gorgeous, sweet, precious boy who Phil doesn’t think he could ever truly deserve in a million years. 

 

He loses track after that, babbling nonsense as Clint bucks against him, both of their orgasms sweeping through them moments apart, leaving them breathing raggedly into one another's mouths.

 

-

 

A while later, Phil’s cutting up vegetables for dinner and Clint’s working on a class assignment at the kitchen table (which Phil feels privately thrilled about but doesn’t want to draw too much attention to for fear of making Clint self conscious). Phil puts some peelings in the garbage before rinsing off his hands and coming over to rub Clint’s broad shoulders. He leans down and kisses the top of Clint’s head, and feels like he’s the recipient of infinite undeserved good fortune to have this tiny slice of pleasurable normality in his life, however fleeting it might be.

 

“Phil?”

 

Phil hums and leans down for another kiss against Clint’s soft hair. “What, sweetheart?”

 

There’s a long pause during which Phil waits for Clint to speak, but the words don’t come, so he pulls out a chair and sits beside him, taking Clint’s hand when it’s offered.

 

Clint draws tiny triangles with his pen in a corner of his notebook. “You like me, right?”

 

Phil can’t help but grin at that. “Of course I do, Clint. I like you very much. I - like I said the other day, the last few months have been…” He searches for the right word. “Perfect.” 

 

There’s a knot of worry in his gut because Clint’s holding _something_ back, squeezing Phil’s hand harder and harder. 

 

Clint takes a deep breath. “Well, I like you,” he says in one breath, like he has to get the words out, like it’s hard for him to say. Clint’s voice is tiny and fragile, as if this is the biggest confession. “Like, _like you_ like you.”

 

Phil wraps his other hand over their clasped hands on the table. Clint almost looks surprised when Phil tells him, “I like you like you, too.” 

 

-

 

Phil stands the two photos from the night before and the two of Clint in the morning on his dressing table, neatly lined up beside one another in chronological order. He puts the fifth in the bedside drawer for safekeeping, and somehow, having the picture close by when he’s alone feels like a talisman, as if by having it close he can take care of the sweet boy in the picture. He supposes he ought to feel more of a salacious thrill about it, and the picture - well, all of the pictures of Clint in one way or another turn him on - but there’s something else about it; the way Clint’s looking at the camera, looking at Phil behind it… He looks like he’s seeing something wonderful, and the thought of being seen like that makes Phil’s heart swoop with love.

**Author's Note:**

> There are so many other stories still to tell in this 'verse, so stay tuned :)


End file.
